Retribution

by John Sneeden

  There was some truth to what he was saying. Even so, something was strange about a man as cautious as Botha wandering around in public, even in Nice. Driscoll was probably right. Botha likely thought there was almost no chance he’d run across someone who would recognize him.

  “Suspicious that our target was frequenting the local bars, Alan put together a list of those that were in the general vicinity of the three sightings,” Driscoll said. “He excluded any establishment that didn’t serve liquor or was a little too hip or trendy. Botha is definitely an old-school kind of guy. From there, it was simply a matter of putting in the work. We divided the list into thirds and began visiting each place and showing them a photograph of Botha.”

  “So how did you ask around without raising suspicions?”

  “I said I was a private investigator who worked for a lawyer in London. I said we were trying to find a man who had been named in a will, and I concocted this story that the man had ostracized himself from the family and moved to Nice. I also said the man was an alcoholic who was known to frequent bars.”

  “Nice,” Drenna said.

  “Then we got lucky. Alan hit pay dirt at the third bar he visited, an Irish pub that’s frequented by expats and tourists from the UK. Not surprisingly, they have a large selection of scotch.”

  “Where is this place?”

  “Rue de France.”

  “So one of the bartenders recognized his photograph?”

  “It was actually the owner. He sometimes works at the bar in order to interact with the clientele. He said Botha had been stopping in regularly for about two weeks.”

  Drenna took a sip of wine then set her glass on the table. “He was certain it was Botha?”

  “According to Alan, there was genuine recognition in his eyes.”

  Driscoll had opened his mouth as if to say something else when the server came over to ask if they were ready to order their repas. He told her to give them a few more minutes. That was the good thing about meeting at restaurants in France—the tables were theirs for the evening.

  “Once we knew where the old bloke was getting his fix, we decided to stake the place out. Even though I don’t think he’s ever seen me before, I decided to send Vinay and Alan inside while I set up in a café across the street.”

  “Let me guess. Alan went in with a cigarette dangling from his mouth,” Drenna said dryly.

  “Give Alan a break. He found him, didn’t he?”

  “Lighten up. I’m joking.”

  Driscoll took a swig of beer then continued. “Anyway, Botha showed up a little past seven and stayed for approximately two and a half hours. During that time, he consumed six whiskeys, flirted with three women, and visited the loo twice.”

  “The man was busy.”

  Driscoll nodded. “He seemed comfortable there in his little world.”

  “So what happened when he left?”

  “That’s where it gets interesting,” Driscoll said. “Around nine thirty, I got a text from Vinay letting me know that Botha was paying his tab. He emerged four minutes later, and I followed him west on Rue de France. He then took a circuitous route through central Nice, an obvious attempt to check for tails.”

  “Do you think he made you?”

  Driscoll shook his head. “If he had, then he certainly wouldn’t have gone back to his flat, which was precisely what he did. It’s a large apartment building on Rue Alphonse Karr.”

  Drenna pulled out her phone. “What’s the address?”

  After he gave her the street number, she entered it on Google Maps. When the satellite view came up, the red pin was atop a U-shaped apartment building whose open end faced the street. At the center of the horseshoe was a large courtyard filled with palm trees and well-manicured bushes. After studying the layout for a few seconds, she toggled to street view and noted that the building was seven stories high. While not particularly new, the apartments were clearly high-end.

  “Did you follow him to his room?” Drenna asked after setting her phone down again.

  “The tenants are some of the most affluent in Nice, so the place is locked up tight. There are security cameras everywhere, and the lobby can only be accessed with a key card. And even if you somehow managed to get in the front entrance, you’d have to deal with a security guard.”

  “The kind who reads the paper and drinks coffee?”

  “I wish. This is more the serious variety. He eyeballs everyone who comes into the lobby. The people who live there place a high premium on privacy, and he’s there to make sure they get exactly that.”

  Drenna nodded. “If Petrov is here with Botha, then there’s a good chance he’s up there in one of those apartments. And even if he isn’t, we might be able to learn a lot if we can get our hands on Botha’s phone.”

  “We could always grab him and use a little enhanced interrogation.”

  Drenna shook her head. “Only as a last resort. We’re in the middle of Nice and have nowhere to take him, since we’re both working off the books.”

  “It may be our only resort. We’re not getting into that building.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I think we can get in.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “I’m going to ask Botha to take me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Over the next few minutes, Drenna laid out her plan. She would enter the pub and attempt to draw Botha’s attention. If he took the bait, she would communicate her openness to continuing the evening away from the bar. And if Botha took the bait, she was certain he would invite her back to his place.

  Saying it was too risky, Driscoll fiercely opposed the idea. He preferred to track Botha’s movements from a distance in the hopes that he might lead them to the others in the gang. That or simply pluck him off the street.

  A debate soon developed between the two spies over who had the better plan. It got so intense that Driscoll suggested they eat first then continue the discussion back at his room. As it turned out, his recommendation had been a good one. They used the time to calm down and consider the merits and challenges of both plans. It also kept them from discussing the matter in public.

  After finishing dinner, the two made the short walk to the Hôtel Mercure. Alan Bowles and Vinay Rana stayed behind for a few minutes so that the four wouldn’t be seen traveling together. Once they were in Driscoll’s suite, he retrieved a Heineken from the mini fridge.

  “What would you like?” he asked. “My treat.”

  “Water is fine.”

  Driscoll handed her a bottle then sat on the edge of his bed. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “It’s not a matter of want.” Drenna took a seat at the small table next to the window. “It needs to be done. I think there’s a chance Petrov is here in Nice, and if he is, I’m reasonably certain he’s in that building.”

  “This isn’t going to be as easy as you think. He may be a lot of things, but Botha’s no fool. He’s going to be on the lookout for anything that smells like trouble.”

  “He’s already taking quite a risk in going out. And your men said he was flirting with women in the bar, which means he doesn’t consider them a threat. Trust me, I can outwit a drunken old man.”

  “Don’t underestimate him, Drenna. I told you what happened last night. Even after six whiskeys, he had enough wits about him to watch for tails.”

  “This will be different. He’ll have his mind on one thing when we walk out of that bar.” She thought for a moment. “Let’s assume he does suspect something. I think I can take care of myself. He’s a pencil pusher, not a fighter.”

  “What if he’s armed?”

  “I’ll be armed as well.”

  Driscoll shook his head. “Too risky. That security guard may check visitors who don’t live there. I saw him running a wand over someone when we watched.”

  She shrugged. “So I’ll do it without a weapon. I’m fully capable of—”

  She was cut off by three soft knocks at the
door.

  Driscoll stood. “Should be my mates.”

  “Surprised Alan doesn’t have a secret knock.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  Drenna smiled. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

  Driscoll walked down the hall then put his eye against the peephole. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he opened the door. Drenna heard some hushed conversation as Bowles and Rana came down the hall and entered the room. It was the first time she had seen Rana up close. He stood just under six feet tall. He had dark curly hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His brows were shaped in a way that made them look permanently furrowed.

  Driscoll locked the door then joined them. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Drenna Steel.”

  Alan Bowles came over and extended his hand. “Alan Bowles.”

  She stood and shook it. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Bowles frowned. “Again?”

  “She says you should ditch the cigarette,” Driscoll said.

  Bowles gave both of them a quizzical look.

  “She saw you at the table when she arrived,” Driscoll explained. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  Bowles’s face reddened.

  “I’m Vinay.” Rana stepped forward and shook Drenna’s hand. “And before you say anything, I’m quite certain you noticed me as well.”

  Driscoll put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s been doing this for a long time.”

  “And you told us to look for a single woman with long dark hair,” Rana said.

  “Yes, there is that.”

  Driscoll retrieved two bottles of water for Bowles and Rana, who took seats across the table from Drenna.

  “Simon tells me the two of you spent some time with Jacques Botha last night,” Drenna said.

  “We did,” Alan answered. “Seemed like a pretty ordinary bloke.”

  “Don’t let that fool you,” Drenna said. “He’s a monster, a cruel and sadistic man.”

  Driscoll sat on the bed and took a pull on his Heineken. “And this is the same cruel and sadistic man she wants to seduce.”

  Rana’s brow seemed to furrow beyond its natural appearance. “Did I miss something?”

  “She has a scheme to get into Botha’s apartment. I’ll let her tell you her plan. Personally, I think it’s bollocks.”

  Rana looked at Drenna. “I’d like to hear it.”

  Drenna outlined the basics of her plan. She would make herself available to Jacques Botha in the hopes that he would invite her to his apartment. And if he didn’t take the bait on the first night, she would return the following evening.

  After she finished giving them a general outline of her proposal, Rana said, “So tell us how you’re going to make the connection. That seems like the most difficult part. You come on too strong, and he’s going to realize he’s being played.”

  “I agree,” Drenna said. “You and your partner said he was quite the flirt. With that in mind, I’m going to let him make the first move, and I’ll do that by simply sitting in a place where he can see me.”

  “He’s a flirt but maybe not in the way you’re thinking,” Rana said. “He’s not the type to drunkenly approach a woman and hang all over them. He’s more subtle.”

  Bowles nodded. “He takes his time and chooses his prey carefully.”

  “As you can imagine, I’ve done this type of thing many times. I know how to communicate that I’m open to being approached without being too obvious. We just have to hope that I’m his type.”

  “You’re every man’s type,” Driscoll said.

  Rana smiled. “Simon’s right. I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

  “He seems to like the ones who are alone,” Bowles added. “That should also give you an advantage.”

  “And you said you’ll go back a second night if necessary?” Rana asked.

  Drenna nodded. “I think it’s possible he won’t push things right away. He’s cagey, so he may resist taking things too far. If I sense he’s open but not ready, then I’ll make sure to let him know I’ll be back.”

  “Doesn’t that seem a bit odd for an attractive woman to be hanging out at a bar night after night?” Driscoll asked.

  “I’ve already got a story ready for that.”

  Rana rubbed his chin. “So what if he doesn’t come back the next night?”

  “I’ll make sure he knows I’m open, and I think that’ll be enough to bring him back. I’ve done this before, so I know how to play hard to get.”

  After a few seconds of reflection, Rana said, “I like what I hear so far. It’s worth a shot. And if we miss, we can always take the more forceful route.”

  “Let’s say you earn yourself an invitation back to his flat,” Driscoll said. “What are you going to do once you get there? What’s your goal?”

  “That’s the part I haven’t quite figured out yet,” Drenna replied. “But obviously, the goal is to find out if Petrov is here in Nice.”

  “If he’s in that building, they probably have separate flats,” Driscoll said. “And if that’s the case, then you’ve hit a dead end. Botha isn’t going to just offer that kind of information.”

  “You’d be surprised what men will tell you after a few drinks. I’m reasonably certain I can get something out of him. And if he doesn’t accidentally offer any helpful information about who he’s here with, then I’ll force it out of him.”

  Rana’s eyes widened. “If you’re going to throw away deception, then we might as well pull him off the street.”

  “No, deception gets me in the building. Once we’re safely inside his apartment, then I’ll have access to electronic devices and perhaps the location of anyone who might be here with him, including Petrov.”

  “If we grab him, then that will give us access to his phone,” Bowles said.

  “He probably carries a burner in public,” Drenna said. “His apartment could be a treasure trove of information. His actual phone, a laptop, and so on. He’s an accountant, a financier, so I’m guessing he conducts most of his business electronically.”

  Driscoll paused for a moment then asked, “Why don’t we give it a little time? We’ll follow Botha for a few days to see if he leads us to any of the others. It’s possible they’re staying somewhere else.”

  “There may not be time,” Drenna said. “If they tried to kill me, then it’s possible they have someone else in their sights. As you said before, Botha isn’t dumb. He’ll eventually realize he’s being followed. And if he decides to disappear, then we lose any chance we had of finding the others.”

  “I actually like the plan,” Bowles said. “And I think I have something that might make it work even better. Something that might be the key to unlocking all of Botha’s secrets.”

  “So what is it?” Drenna asked.

  “I brought the benzo.”

  Drenna frowned. “Benzo?”

  “Benzodiazepine,” he replied.

  The date-rape drug. Drenna recognized the official name right away. She was familiar with all the various anesthetics and depressants that were used for nefarious purposes. Most of them, including benzodiazepine, could be dissolved in drinks, which made them ripe for misuse by those intent on committing sexual assault. They were also used by intelligence agencies, a little secret that was kept from the public.

  “So you brought the kit?” Rana asked Bowles.

  Bowles grinned. “Of course.”

  Drenna looked at Driscoll. “The kit? I didn’t realize MI6 carried around a stash of drugs.”

  “It’s not a bag of pills,” Driscoll said. “It’s much more than that. It actually contains a lot of little toys.”

  “You won’t find it in any of our official manuals,” Rana said. “It’s a little something our people put together for black ops.”

  Drenna remembered something she had read recently. She looked at Bowles. “I thought the manufacturers of benzodiazepine changed the composition of that pill in order to prevent or discourage it from being used t
o commit sexual assault. I remember reading that the latest version turns drinks blue and has a strong taste.”

  “Only the brand-name drug has those features,” Bowles said. “We use one of the generics. It’s tasteless and odorless. I can set the dose very low so that the effects are mild. You can just put it in Botha’s drink shortly before you leave, and you’ll be dealing with a talkative marshmallow by the time you get back to his apartment.”

  Drenna was starting to like Alan Bowles more and more with each passing moment. It was a brilliant suggestion. She would simply wait until Botha went to the men’s room then drop a pill in his drink. When he got back, she would communicate her openness to going somewhere “more private.”

  “Not only is this a good plan,” Rana said, “but I think we need to move now. Who knows, Botha might be jumping from place to place, which means he could be gone if we wait much longer.”

  Driscoll stared at Rana for a moment then shifted his gaze to Drenna. “I guess I’m outnumbered.”

  “Help me!” the girl called out.

  Stay where you are. I’m coming.

  Drenna turned the corner and raised her pistol with both hands. Darkness filled the hallway, making it difficult to see what was ahead. The girl’s voice sounded like it came from that part of the house, but it was impossible to say for sure. Everything about the place seemed shrouded in a haze.

  Hearing nothing, Drenna proceeded down the hall. Two doors appeared, one on either side.

  “Please help me!” the girl cried out again.

  The voice came from the room on the right, so Drenna moved in that direction.

  “He’s here,” the girl said in a trembling voice. “He’s here, and he’s going to kill me.”

  Who’s here?

  “Please. Don’t desert me like you did before.”

  Strangely, Drenna sensed the girl was telling the truth. She had let her down at some point. But who was she? And how had Drenna let her down?

  Hang on. I’m almost there. I’ll save you and make everything right.

  Drenna eased up to the door and listened. No sound came from within. She counted silently to three then entered, pistol in the air. Across the room, thin bars of moonlight spilled through the blinds. Drenna quickly took in the dimly lit space. Posters of musicians adorned the wall to the right. T-shirts, socks, and denim shorts were strewn across the floor. It was a teenager’s room. It was her room.